


Dark Hot Light.

by EliahvanHeaven



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Wings, Angelic Grace, Bloody, Body Worship, Dean Has a Crush, Dean Winchester Helps Castiel, Feathers & Featherplay, Gay, Helpful Dean, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Control, M/M, Mild Painplay, Protective Dean Winchester, Sexual Violence, Sorry Not Sorry, Touching, Wing Kink, Wounded Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 14:02:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12632544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EliahvanHeaven/pseuds/EliahvanHeaven
Summary: I am tearing the blade through flesh, dark blood pouring and pouring over my fingers and down his feathers on the ground until I reach something hard. I remove the blade, sticking my fingers into the opened up, wet wound and try to grab it- he is hot-warm and wet inside and I am not sure if I want to come or throw up.





	Dark Hot Light.

Cool, silky feathers. They are soft under my fingertips, velvety black ink. With that shiny rainbow touch. Like spread oil on a wet street. Just stronger. Richer in color. It is not just black, but deeper.

Then there's warm skin as I bury my fingers deeper into the fluffed, down feathers. His wings are radiating. Vibrating with heat. A shuddery hotness. Shivering...shudders through the strong muscles as I reach his hard wing boke, grabbing for it, pulling. He groans.

"Dean..."

Like a warning.

I rub fingers against the bone still, rustling, shaky feathers all around me as he can't keep control.

I can feel his heartbeat. Blood being pumped through black flesh, pulsing hot skin. 

"Shit..."

All I want is to rub myself against him and come all over the big, wide primary feathers until they are soaked. Wet. Dripping.

"Dean...", he says again, low and rumbling with that dangerous undertone that is filling my belly with excitement. 

"Yeah...Cas? Yeah I'm here..."

But there's nothing more to say as I feel his crotch against my thigh. He is hard. Hard and _hot_ \- even through his suit pants and I feel him twitching against me as I brush fingers through the smaller feathers right at his back. 

I don't dare to say a word though. I don't know how. Or if he is even aware of the sexual tension in the room. 

"C-Cas...what...should I do now...?"

I follow the upper curve of his right wing until I reach the part where the feathers are rumbled, broken, stuck in every direction and clumpily sticked together with a thick dark fluid.

I am shaking. And so is he.

"You need to find the piece of holy wood and pull it out. As long as it is buried inside of my wings's flesh I won't be able to heal myself. It may be deep. You may need a knife to reach it."

"Dude...this will hurt like a motherfucker!"

"Yes. This choice of words is rather...unneccessary. But it will hurt me, Dean. You need to ignore my pain. This has to be done. As soon at it is removed I will be able to use my grace freely again and heal myself. I will be fine."

I swallow.

_Ok...ok...I can do that...have done it for Sammy for a thousand times..._

I grab for the booze, when he stops my arm in its movement.

"There is no need to clean the wound, Dean. I am immune to earthly bacteria and will close the injured parts right afterwards."

"Well ok...get ready to rumble then..."

I ignore my erection. How could I even get aroused. He is hurt. He needs my help.

Sighing I start by plugging out some injured feathers, searching for the wound itself under all the crusty pieces of...blood? It starts running freely as soon as I have removed some parts, a pitchblack thick liquid that runs down in thin, pouring trails.

"That's blood Cas? Your blood is...black?"

He looks at me from heavy eyelids, looking kind of annoyed, but I see his eyes flashing with pain.

"No. This is no blood, Dean. You need to remember that what you are seeing are not my real wings. They exist out of light. What you see is what your limited imagination lets you see. I am loosing energy. It is pouring from the injured skin."

"Yeah..yeah I see..."

I don't. But it also doesn't matter. Because when my fingers actually reach the wound, they are covered in goddamn _black blood_ that is squeezed out of opened black flesh.

"Shit Cas that looks awful...it's very deep..."

"Can you reach the wood?"

"I don't know...I can't see or feel it..."

He wordlessly reaches me a small dagger from the table.

"Cut it out then."

"I...I will have to cut you open..."

"Yes."

I take it with closed eyes, trying to let resignation wash over me as I lay the tip of it against him and bury it inside of his wound with a wet sound that it making me nauseous.

He groans in pain, face sweaty and flushed, eyes in a haze and somehow...somehow the sounds he is making are quiet sexy. 

Hitched gasps, deep moans.

I am tearing the blade through flesh, dark blood pouring and pouring over my fingers and down his feathers on the ground until I reach something hard. I remove the blade, sticking my fingers into the opened up, wet wound and try to grab it- he is hot-warm and wet inside and I am not sure if I want to come or throw up.

"Deeean..."

He rumbles, panting and red faced, lips wet and parted and... _Oh my god..._

"Y-yes...?"

"That is it. You...hhh...you...ah...n-need to pull...it...out..."

"Yeah...ok...ok Cas..."

I can't really get a hold of it because it is too wet, too slippery and he is shaking now, jerking in pain. Half of my hand is buried in the deep wound, my arm covered, when I finally get it in between my fingers and pull.

He lets out a growly scream and falls to his knees when the piece of wood comes out together with a flush of hot blood that is pouring over me. 

Then it is done.

He keeps on kneeling, panting, pressing out a "Thank you, Dean.", before there is light and I can't see and when I open my eyes again his wing is perfectly intact and clean.

I am staring in awe.

He is glorious.

Powerful.

I can't help but brush fingertips over the now healed wing, feeling the warm, softly vibrating skin with still bloody fingers. And I just don't stop.

Not now.

He is still groaning.


End file.
